


Last Memories

by heylittleangel



Series: Supernatural Bingos [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Canon Divergent, Decapitation, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, vampire!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylittleangel/pseuds/heylittleangel
Summary: Dean never wanted it. He neverthoughtthis would happen but he knew what to do, and keep living wasn’t on the table.
Relationships: Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural Bingos [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459561
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: SPN Rare Pair Bunker





	Last Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, peeps! I'm here with something angst and hurtful to you. The fic for this square (Vampire) was gonna be completely different but the other story didn't work out and, when I started writing this one, if flowed so I decided to go with this one. MCD is not something I usually do but I hope you enjoy the angst nonetheless.
> 
> Also, you can definitely blame [ bbc](https://deansrightfulangerissue.tumblr.com/) for this cause she made me love angst and learn to love Deanlisa (but she's amazing anyway XD)
> 
> Okay, go read it now!

Dean never wanted this. When he thought about his death—which was constantly, considering his line of work—he had so many different scenarios; drained by a vampire; killed by some horrible, disgusting curse placed on him by a witch; a werewolf tearing his heart from his chest; a ghost that actually managed to kill before it was salted and burned. But one thing all of those scenarios had in common was the fact that Dean was sure he would go down swinging and taking at least one monster with him; no way he would go down alone. 

Instead, he wasn’t going down swinging; hell, he was  _ asking _ to die. And it wasn’t by a monster or a witch or a god or a ghost either; it was by the hands of his own brother and grandfather. Dean wasn’t sure if that made things better or not.

He had had his fair share of being tossed around different places or times; by a djin once, by the angels on multiple occasions. In most of those occasions, Dean was forced to be someone he wasn’t or he was placed somewhere he didn’t know or had to do things he would never do in a different situation. But never, and he means  _ never _ , was he forced to become  _ this _ , the very thing Dean has hunted his entire life: a monster.

Being turned into a vampire was never something Dean thought would happen to him; monsters didn’t usually turn hunters into monsters. They wanted to kill and torture them as slowly and painfully as possible if they could, or just kill them right away.

That’s why Dean never worried about it; the thought of turning into a monster, something he despises so much never even crossed his mind in the thirty or so years of his life. And he was sure he wouldn’t have thought about it if it wasn’t happening at right this instant. It wasn’t fun either; Dean had been to Hell, had been tortured by demons and angels alike, almost died more times than he could count, had been electrocuted, and  _ nothing _ had felt like this.

It seemed like his soul itself was in pain; it seemed to twist and turn inside of him, changing in itself, mutating into something dark, evil,  _ hungry _ . It made Dean wonder whether it was changing his very own essence too; would it turn him into a cold-hearted monster, someone that doesn’t care about others, someone that can kill people with a kind of ease that Dean doesn’t have?

The hunger that burned inside of him told Dean that yes, it was quite possible that it would. Dean would do anything to be able to kill that hunger, to drown the thirst that seemed to crawl in his throat. He had gone days without eating anything, more than once, but never felt anything like this; his stomach turned in itself, the acid seemed to be consuming his insides, and the hunger was so strong that Dean felt like he was about to throw up.

He could smell the blood of the people in the other motel rooms; it was a sweet, sweet smell that made his mouth water just like the scent of a fresh-baked pie would; it made the hunger burn stronger in his stomach; the fangs in his mouth seemed to have a mind of their own, sliding down in its place as Dean groaned, trying to fight against them.

But Dean had never smelled anything that good before; no smell had ever made anything seem so sweet and tasty. Not the burgers Dean had been eating ever since he tried his first, nor the cherry pies he would get at any and every place that sold them, and nor the smell of fresh coffee when he had just woken up. Not even Lisa’s food had ever smelled so great in comparison to the smell of blood.

Dean could distinguish different types of blood around him and he knew each had its own scent, but they all seemed to mix together to create something more, something that Dean was sure would be the greatest meal he would ever have in his whole life.

To not give in was one of the hardest things Dean had ever done in his life; not even going through all the tortures Alastair had done to him had been that bad. Dean growled in his spot, fought the fangs that insisted on being on display, held onto the bed by his side so hard that he broke the wood between his fingers as it was nothing. 

He stared at the closed door like a starving man, the hunger burned at the back of his throat, a tiny voice inside his head telling him to go after what he wanted; to go after the sweet smell of blood and drink like there was no tomorrow.

And Dean wanted it; oh, how he wanted it. Ripping someone’s throat open seemed like the greatest thing he could do at the moment, to drink straight from their veins, to feel the blood dripping down his chin and neck, to get to know the warmth that would spread inside of him as he drank the blood.

No one would know; Sam and Samuel were still out, it was the middle of the night, and, if Dean was careful and quiet, no one in the motel would even hear him. He could break into one of the rooms and drink the person or people inside until he killed the thirst inside him, until the hunger finally died down—the two mixed inside of him and Dean couldn’t distinct them, but knew he wanted to get rid of both.

Still, the rational part of Dean told him  _ no _ , told him that it was wrong, that Dean didn’t want to turn into a real monster; having the fangs and vampire blood coursing through his veins was enough. Could Dean really let the murder of innocents be the last thing he ever did? Could he let that be the last memory Sam would have of him? That  _ Lisa and Ben _ would have of him? Even if Dean’s life had its minutes counted before it ended, Dean was sure he could never let himself do it; he could never die knowing what Lisa would think of him when she found out: a monster, a  _ murderer _ .

So he fought against himself, trying to keep the control of the rational part of his brain stronger than the monster inside of him. It was all Dean could do to keep himself focused on his breathing and not on the hunger burning in him. 

He lost track of how long he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. It was something Lisa had taught him when he had first moved in; Dean would wake up with his breath caught in his throat, panic coursing through his veins as the nightmares played in his mind. Lisa would make him breathe with her, focusing only on that so he wouldn’t spiral and get more freaked out. They would breathe together for long minutes, Lisa’s hands tight around Dean’s, until he finally felt better and could tell her about his nightmares. 

Dean startled when the door of the room opened and he snapped his head to see Sam and Samuel walking in. Samuel’s hand was closed tightly around the sheath of the machete, his eyes staring suspiciously at Dean; Sam had a neutral expression on his face, placing his bag on a chair calmly.

Relief coursed through Dean and he couldn’t wait for it all to be over; did dying as a monster counted as taking one with him too? If so, Dean would even feel better about it.

“Dean,” Samuel’s voice seemed to drip with sadness but his eyes didn’t show the same. “We don’t have to do this.”

Dean shook his head, standing up with wobbly legs. “No, we do. I can’t live like this.”

“We can find a better way.” Sam tried to walk towards him but Dean took a step back, raising a hand for Sam to stop. The smell of blood was stronger now and the sound of their hearts beating was more than enough for Dean to feel his control slipping away.

“Just do it.” He let himself fall to his knees, stretching his neck so it would be easier. “Before I can’t control myself anymore.”

The tension in the room was thick and Dean knew the two were having a silent conversation between them. Not that it mattered anyway; Dean didn’t want to know what they were thinking and he knew Samuel wasn’t attached enough not to do it — he wouldn’t have a problem with killing a monster, even if that monster was Dean.

Dean closed his eyes, breathing out through his mouth slowly, and let his thoughts wander to Lisa; to the good memories he had with her in their house; waking up to the smell of fresh breakfast or to her arms wrapped around him, her nose pressed against the curve of his neck as she slept. The barbecues they’d have with their friends, how Lisa would always give him a kiss on the cheek whenever she passed by him.

He could almost feel Lisa’s lips on his cheek right before Samuel’s machete, at last, swung down.

**Author's Note:**

> So, did you like it? Leave a comment and a kudo and make this writer very happy!
> 
> As always, you can find me on [ tumblr](https://gii-heylittleangel.tumblr.com/)


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